7:00am, Tuesday, August 10th
Wake up. Where am I? Where’s that damn alarm? Wait. There is no alarm. FUCK! WHAT TIME IS IT? I overslept, I slept through my alarm again, ohfuckohfuckohfuck. What am I gonna tell the boss?
- there was a wreck on the interstate.
- I got a flat tire.
- I was up all night with family problems; I’d rather not talk about them.
- The roof of my house caved in last night.
- Our furnace exploded.
Yeah, so that’s why I’m late for work today…”
Or I guess I could just—wait. It’s 7:02. Is it nighttime? Did I just wake up from a nap? 7:03 on Thursday, August 5th. What day was it when I went to sleep? Wednesday? Okay, so it was Wednesday and now it’s Thursday. Not a nap. It’s morning. Is it morning? Check outside. Yes, it’s morning. Oh, oh okay. Good. So— Ahh…. I’m not late for work. I woke up on time, without my alarm. I am awesome. I am Clockwork Man. 7:05am—BRRRRRIIIIINNNNNGGGG!!!! BBRRRRIIIIINNNNGGGG!!! Oh shit, where’s my alarm?
GAH!!! MY LEG!!!! RUB IT OUT, RUB IT OUT!!! Effing stupid leg cramps! Effing stupid! Gah! That hurts! Did I twist it weird? Why do I have a leg cramp first thing upon waking up? Oh, crap, this is punishment. This is god’s way of telling me he’s so not cool with what I did last night. Aw, hell.
Wait, I totally don’t believe in god and even if I did, I don’t believe that god would exact punishment in the form of a morning leg crap. OWIE! OWIE! OWIE! IT HURTS SO BAD! Ohemgee, this is a sign of disease. I’m sick. Oh god, what kind of sickness causes massive leg cramps? Toxoplasmosis? Oh fuck, I have toxoplasmosis! Wait, isn’t that cat AIDS? Oh god, do I have cat AIDS? No, that’s… no. Cat AIDS is just AIDS that a cat gets, and I don’t even have a cat. So what’s toxoplasmosis, then? Oh yeah! It’s cat-scratch fever! Duh. Kitty-poopoo-scratch-disease. I totally don’t have that. Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap, it must be leukemia, then. I have to quit smoking. My insurance hasn’t even kicked in yet! I’ve given myself leukemia from smoking and this leg cramp is the first sign… of… wait. That doesn’t sound right. Maybe this is just a leg cramp. What time is it? Not yet 10 past 7, my back up alarm hasn’t even beeped yet. I am Clockwork Man. Ooo! Imma make coffee!
I can’t believe we’re out of coffee.
Okay, almost 7:15, need to be at work by 9am, in line for coffee by 8:45, leave the house by 8:20, I should be getting dressed by 8:00, in the shower by 7:45. It’s all about timing. Oh, hey, I can just heat up this iced coffee from yesterday. Yesterday? Day before yesterday? Whatever, it’ll be fine. It’s all about timing. Timing, timing, timing… I am Clockwork Man. And now that I’ve found a tiny dash of morning coffee, I have time for morning facebook. 28 minutes of time, in fact…
Note to self: heating old iced coffee is not delicious. Meh.
Time to shower.
Glance at the clock—Oh, heck yea, I’m good. Clockwork Man has struck againnnnnnnnnrrrrrrrgggggbblurrblugbha. oh. that was werrrrggggllluuummmbbbubhbubh. oh. shit. bathroom. now.
What the hell did I eat last night? Oh yeah, beer and burritos. Maybe that iced coffee was older than I thoughghghgtlvlvvwulwulwulbbulh. oy vey. Well, this was unscheduled. Regardless, Clockwork Man will persevere…
Eff me, I should be at the coffee shop by now. Where the hell is that other sock?
Ten minutes to get to work. And this clock is 3 or 4 minutes fast, so really, I’ve got plenty of time. I can swing by the coffee shop, finally get some g-d- coffee, get to work, and be at my desk before the boss makes his morning round. I’ll technically be maybe a couple minutes late, but no one will notice.
I am Clockwork Man. I can make this work.
Traffic? Are you kidding? There’s never traffic after 8:30; everyone’s at work. Do I still have time for coffee? Well, really, do I have time for the bitch-headache I’ll have if I don’t get my coffee? No, sir. Clockwork Man can make this work.
And there’s a red light. Coffee or not? Coffee or not? I mean, at this point I’m going to be late regardless, so… might as well have a tangible reason for it.
There’s a line? There’s never a line. There’s never a line because I’m never here this late. Maybe I should leave.
I should have left. This is beyond ridic—”Oh, hi, yes, double americano with hazelnut and soy. Yeah, thanks.”
. . .
. . .
. . .
And now you finally have your coffee, it’s 9:05am and you’re undeniably late for work, but you’re on your way and you have your coffee. You’re walking across the manicured parking lot of the quasi-corporate coffee shop, smugly satisfied with yourself because even though this morning hasn’t gone as you’d hoped, you know no one will challenge Clockwork Man on being 10 or 15 minutes late to work, and you’re just about to your car when *PLOOOP*… A bird shits in your coffee.
Before you can think you’ve poured off the top third—the contaminated third—of the liquid and you’re asking yourself if the 5-second rule applies as well to birdshit in coffee as it does to cookies on the kitchen floor. You know it doesn’t, but still hesitate, listing all the possible diseases you can get from birdshit in coffee, or at least the diseases you’ve convinced yourself you can get, the diseases you have to convince yourself you would get or you might just try to drink it anyway.
Birdshit definitely has cat AIDS.
You are Clockwork Man; you don’t need cat AIDS right now.